


Ain't It a Fine Life

by Anjion



Series: Newsie Oneshots [8]
Category: Newsies (1992)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjion/pseuds/Anjion
Summary: A newsie relates what happened to him at the rally on that fateful day, and what happened next.
Series: Newsie Oneshots [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855177
Kudos: 1





	Ain't It a Fine Life

**Author's Note:**

> Mac is referred to as 'he' in this story because it takes place before the end of the strike and before Mac's secret is revealed. For more details, please read Introducing Mac.

**Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, sadly, they belong to Disney. Mac, however, is my own creation. Please read and review!**

* * *

_The atmosphere in the theatre is boisterous and crazy, and all around me my fellow Newsies are cheering and whooping and laughing in boyish delight. In the centre, surrounded by a tight gaggle of boys, Medda is glowing and radiant, laughing along with us. Right now, we couldn't be happier. But none of us knows that in just a few seconds, the world will come crashing down around our shoulders..._

_**Ain't it a fine life...** _

Yes, everything was looking really good for us Newsies until that moment. That morning, Racetrack had gathered the hundreds of Newsies from all over New York – even those from as far away as Coney Island – for the rally at Irving Hall. Everyone was happy and excited, and there was a whisper that Medda might be treating us to an appearance.

The meeting itself was a great success, with all the different boroughs agreeing to join our crusade. Then Medda appeared, as we had hoped, and we had a lovely sing-song – Medda knows exactly which songs we all like. So we were in very high spirits and didn't know that anything was amiss until we heard the whistle blow...

_For a moment, nothing changes, apart from the shrill peeping of a whistle which cuts though the noise like a knife through butter. Then everyone starts making a desperate attempt to scatter, which proves near impossible due to the sheer number of us. As I grab up Tumbler and try to force my way towards the nearest door, I notice Racetrack ushering Medda into the relative safety of her stage hands. When I look back a second later, attracted by a scream of anger, Racetrack is unconscious and being dragged away by two large men, while Medda cries out his name in concern and frustration. Part of me wants to go comfort her, but that would leave Tumbler in danger, so I turn away and continue onwards..._

_**Ain't it a fine life...** _

Luckily for Tumbler, I managed to get him to a window and push him through it. Unfortunately for _me_ , I was too big to fit through. So I told the tiny boy to beat it and reluctantly turned back into the rabble. Could I make it out of here unscathed?

_The crowd is slimming a little now, mostly due to all the big men with hard fists and the policemen with their truncheons. Even as I push through the milling boys, I hear the grunts, groans and cries of pain coming from them as these bullies descend upon them. And though I would expect this kind of treatment from Pulitzer's thugs, I am still shocked at the sheer brutality being used against us._

_Then I spot my best friend Specs in the crowd, trying desperately to evade one of Pulitzer's goons, but before I can call out to him, a burly cop swings out with his club and catches him full across the face, smashing his glasses and knocking him out cold. I want to go to his aid, but I simply can't get through..._

_**Ain't it a fine life...** _

So I had to leave my best friend in the hands of the enemy. I still feel incredibly guilty about this, even though there was nothing I could have done even if I _had_ managed to reach him. So instead I forced myself to concentrate on getting _myself_ out of there. Unfortunately, this was not to be my lucky day...

_I continue to push through the crowd, and suddenly find a relatively clear path straight to the door. I make a desperate run for it, but before I am halfway there, something heavy connects with the back of my head and I drop to the ground as everything goes black -_

_When I come round, I am in a cold, dark room. Although I can't yet see them, I can sense that there are other people in here with me. I groan and try to sit up, but a flash of pain in my head forces me to lie down again, white spots dancing behind my eyelids. Someone comes across to me and tells me to lie still for a few moments; it is a second or two before I recognise Mac's gentle voice. I try again a moment later and this time I succeed in propping myself up against the wall. Once my eyes get used to the dim light – amazingly, I still have my (undamaged) glasses on my nose – I am able to pick out individual people: Skittery, Swifty, Snipes, Kid Blink, Itey, Pie Eater – even Spot – are just a few of them. I know Mush is here too, but only because I can hear him crying softly; he's never been very good in these situations. Racetrack and Specs are lying against one wall, both still unconscious, and I know Mac will have his beady eye on them both until they recover._

_So here we are, sitting in a cold prison cell. All we can do is wait until someone decides what to do with us. Knowing our luck, it won't be good. And to think that just a short while ago we were having a truly good time._

_**Ain't it a fine life...** _

We sat in that cell all night, with the younger ones snuggling up to us older ones in an attempt to get warm. Snipes, Boots, Jake, Mush and a few others had managed to fall asleep – even _I_ managed to catch an hour or two – but it wasn't restful at all. I doubt Mac got much sleep at all, if any. On the upside, both Race and Specs came round shortly before sunrise, and despite some degree of grogginess, they seemed to be not too worse for wear. Thankfully, it was too dark for Specs to notice the absence of his glasses, so we didn't have to contend with him panicking until later.

Barely an hour later, we were standing in front of the 'honourable' Judge E. A. Monahan, hatless and with our hands tied behind our backs (the younger ones, Snipes and Boots, had theirs tied in front of them for some reason). Specs looked barely with it, Race looked decidedly groggy, though he'd found his sense of humour again, and Mac looked exhausted. And we had no hope of paying the fines being demanded of us, and so were doomed to spend two weeks in the Refuge.

But things were about to get worse...

_We are all congregated at Tibby's, feeling utterly dejected. Despite managing to avoid our stay at the Refuge, thanks to Denton, we are now leaderless, with Jack in the Refuge, thanks to Snyder. And Denton has just told us that the rally hasn't even made it into the Sun – and if it isn't in the paper, then as far as the public are concerned, it didn't happen – and so we'll get no support from that. And to top it all, Denton is leaving to write about some 'ace war' somewhere. He's just gonna abandon us. Beside me, Specs looks like he dearly wants to break down and cry. But that won't help. We're on our own. We've always been on our own. No one really cares about us boys, no one ever will. No one's gonna help us now._

_**Ain't it a fine life...** _


End file.
